Dresses
by Creatoriginsane
Summary: With an occurrence of a certain event, she swore never to wear them again. / 3/3: It's been fifty years since she has been able to anyway.
1. Dresses

**Dresses**

****A/N: Wow, I did this long before? Oh well, read and review! May suck since this was a year old and my grammar's not that good.**

_(A/N: Haa, first-ever Kuroshitsuji fic, read and review!)_

Disclaimer: I only own what I have created, which is not Kuroshitsuji.

Warnings: OCs, possible OoC-ness and cliché-ness(although I always try not to), LONG one-shot.

* * *

Alice PoV.

* * *

"Really, your Majesty, would I really need to come with you?" Teresa asked—er, complained—as I tried to pick out a dress for her.

"Of course you would!" I smiled as I held two dresses in my hands; one bright red and the other a deep purple.

"But, yes, I would really come with you, but would I really need to wear one of these—" She fingered a lacey pink dress on the bed, "Dresses. . ." She said, almost shivering in small disgust.

"Oh course! Those suits look terrible on you, and I want to see your real womanly form!" I tossed the two other dresses onto the bed and quickly spun back to the wardrobe.

"Well, they are more comfortable that those dresses. . ." Her voice trailed.

"Well, try something new for once!" I beamed at her. Finally, I found the perfect dress; a dark midnight blue with black trimming; a black ribbon at the chest, black lace whirling down the skirt, the corset-like design may be accentuating her—er, body, and the long gown brushing the floor.

"I-I would wear th-that, your Majesty?" She pointed, horrified, a truly horrified expression on her face.

"Yes, I don't see anything provocative about that." I replied, knowing her distance to all things suggestive.

"But it exposes my arms,"

"Then wear gloves."

"It seems painful to the torso,"

"Not even close."

"It exposes quite an amount of skin."

"How so?"

"It exposes the neck, shoulders, arms and some cleavage. . ."

"Do you even have a cleavage?" I asked, nearly laughing aloud.

"Ahem, I'm sorry, your Majesty, but I'd rather come as a butler than to be stared at by perverted men as a woman."

"Fine, then. . ." I smirked, "I order you, Teresa."

* * *

Later. . .

* * *

She was fuming, fuming like a volcano. I can see her eyes squeezed shut and her gloved hands shook into fists as she tried her best to calm herself down. I think she didn't look as she said she would be. She was wearing the dark black and blue dress, long dark blue gloves, a black, silver-chained necklace on her neck and her hair. . . I'm still amazed by her hair, usually her hair would be short. Now, her hair wasn't as long as I suspected but womanly enough, it was like her usual hair but a bit longer, now up to the middle of her neck, something like a shaggy bob cut.

"Teresa," I smiled sarcastically at her.

"Yes, your Majesty?" She answered, her obvious attempt to not scream at me.

"You do know where we're going tonight, right?"

"Yes,"

"Very good!" I clapped my hands in glee.

"Thank you, but should I be really wearing this—" She fiddled with the lacy design on the dress, "This thing?" She looked at it in disgust.

"You should follow my orders, Teresa. And plus, wouldn't you rather wear this instead of the pink one?"

"Hm, of course, your Majesty. This dress suits me just fine." I can feel that she's scowling on the inside.

Half an hour later. . .

Ah, the grand ball, quite a nice sight to see. Music by the orchestra, food imported from the best of chefs from all over England, amazing gowns and suits done by the best of tailors, worn only by the best of people, and dance, the several dances all throughout the night.

* * *

Teresa PoV

* * *

'How dare she? How dare she leave me in this state of dress, in this ballroom, alone?' I screamed at myself, walking aimlessly, looking for her.

'Agh, well that is it!' I screamed at myself once more for nearing falling due to the high, pointed heels that matched this outfit. I was about to lift the dress' skirt, but sighed and let it fall once more onto the floor. I almost forgot that I attached two of my guns on the shoes, in case anyone or anything would be interfering with the night's occasion.

I started to walk once more, until a sly voice echoed in my ears, behind me; "And what do we have here?" A romantic sigh, "A dark blue mistress searching for her lost love!" It sounded playful and confused.

I sighed inwardly, clearing the rage from earlier, I slowly turned back;

'What—what does he think he's doing!' My and eyes widened and eyebrows rose in shock, this man must either be mentally unstable or a lover; which I highly doubt. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly, as he was kneeling on one foot.

"Oh! This beauty's a sight to behold!" I swear I could his face form a dusty pink blush, his eyes were closed, but the hair gave it all away.

'Golden blond hair, they say. Sprinkled with the stars, they say. Like sewn by the angles themselves, they say.' I thought, 'No other than he, himself; Viscount of Druitt; Aleister Chamber. . .'

"Excuse me, good sir. . ." I pried my hand away, "But, if you will continue your misdoing—" I slowly backed away with each word I uttered, "Please, do it with some other woman." I insisted.

"But you are far more different than all these other robins in this nest." He insisted and grabbed my hand once more with both of his.

"E-eh, but sir, please—" I tried to prevent myself from raising a gun at him, voice dripping with insisting sarcasm, "I am not fit for people as yourself. . ." I smiled sheepishly, thinking to myself; 'No, seriously. . .'

"Ah! You are but the most modest and humbled of all these robins!" He stepped closer, and whispered to me, "My dark, ravenous little raven. . ." He chuckled, an eerie one at that.

"E-eh-heh, you do flatter me, Viscount, but I do believe there are more suitable women for your—er, entertainment. . ." I smiled, silently cursing this man's soul, while trying to at least pry my hands off of his and walk away.

"But my dear," He persisted closer, placing a hand on my waist, causing me to shiver in disgust, "There are none of these others that are like you." He pressed our bodies together, causing me to step painfully on his foot.

"OUCH!" He shrieked in such a, womanly voice. "How dare you?" He was in fury, striking attention from almost everyone, "Such an embodiment of emotion in such a cold, hard shell!" He screamed, this time, in sheer bliss. "I want to coax you out that cold shell and make you bloom into the beautiful blue bird you are hiding away from the world!"

"Oh, please." I sighed, I have had it already. . . I picked him up by his very womanly collar, "Sir, sexual assault is a crime, a crime that excuses no one, even higher-ranked ones like you." I said matter-of-factly, staring into his gay, girly, now afraid eyes.

He was speechless.

I dropped him onto his feet, dusting off his shoulders and fixing up his collar, like a mother or lover, "You know, if you fix yourself up, maybe someday, I can be your little blue bird." I smiled, thinking of other words to say.

Turning my back, I disappeared into the crowd, the smile fading into an angry scowl, 'Your Majesty, if you we were not bounded by contract, I would have eaten you already.'

* * *

A/N: Tentetenen! Done! But I still wonder, will I still continue with this? I don't know. . . This was done ages—er, a year—ago. . . Read and review, thank you!


	2. Gowns

**Gowns**

**REUPLOADED: Sep 20, 2012

A/N: The "long-awaited", but not really, sequel to Dresses! It's been such a long, long time. I'm not even sure if this counts as a sequel, but it can stand on its own as well. Takes place inside the Campania (manga-verse), before my **Corpses** fic (which I suggest you read)

* * *

He came crawling on his knees as soon as the grand ballroom on the third floor was clearing of walking corpses and filling with dead ones. Now, as if the bodies weren't that foul-smelling enough, he was thankful that most of the bodies only took a certain space of the room. The rest were scattered about, tossed around, hanging from ledges, and lying at tables.

And the last of them fell, a pained groan from its mouth, as a bullet shell 'tinked' on the marble floor.

He looked up from his hiding place from behind a buffet table; sad though, the food was soiled with dead blood and decaying entrails.

* * *

_His angel came with bullets and lace._

* * *

His mouth was agape, and before his mind could register his actions; he was running over bodies and skipping through plates.

He literally crashed onto her left leg and was embracing it as if she was Aphrodite.

"Would you let go of my leg, sir?" His savior asked him in a disturbed tone.

He was busy gasping and moaning his gratitude over her leg.

She sighed, rolling dark blue eyes as she did so. Locking the gun into place on her back, she repeated in a more threatening tone, "Sir, unhand my leg else I will be forced to break bones."

He looked up, and gazed upon her face; _soft skin framed by short, wispy black hair with two glinting sapphires as eyes_—he muses—_she looks like, she must be!_—his eyes widen in sudden recall.

"My blue bird!" He tightens his hold on her leg, placing kisses on the skin her sock and skirt failed to hide.

"Unhand me!" She shouts, grabbing his forearm, giving a quick yank away from her, pulling him up on his feet.

He counteracts smoothly; placing his free hand on the one on his forearm, he slides her hand into his, taking the opportunity to place his lips on her (unfortunately) covered fingers.

"How could you forget me, blue bird?" He speaks casually as he rises from her hand, caressing the back of her palm with his thumb, a gentle look on his face.

"Sir, I honestly do not know what you are talking about." She states, pulling her hand and plucking her fingers from his. "If you are without your lover this evening, I cannot fully assure you that she is safe from any harm."

"Ah, but you are right and wrong on that matter, blue bird." He says, "I am without a lover, for my lover is to be you." He draws unpredictably close.

"Sir," She sighs, but stills in place, "You must have me confused with someone else, I will take you to the deck and then you find your missing lover, alright?" She nods.

"My dear blue bird," He reaches a hand to her cheek, stroking it, "How can one mistake you for another?"

She presses close; he could feel her chest press into his as she exhales, her lips tempting as they were close, "Well, for one—"

"We have never met until now." She harshly shoved him away, an arm's length between them, "And frankly, I do not intend on meeting you again." She spins on her heel and starts to parade away.

He stops her with a rough pull on the junction of her elbow—_he's been playing with the occult_—she thinks.

"Ah, but fate has brought us together," He presses his cheek to the back of her head, "And it shall not drive us apart, again."

"You're delusional—" She spins and strikes a fist at his head, wanting to bash sense into him. He counters by pulling on the incoming fist, sending him and her crashing into him. She retorts with a sideways kick, but he hooks his other hand behind her knee, pulling her flush against him.

"And you're beautiful." He congratulates himself by sending a soft kiss on the corner of her parted lips; he then captures her lips gracefully.

The searing sensation makes him loosen his grip on her wrist, which she gratefully uses to smack the side of his head. He stumbles away from her with a shocked gasped.

"Do not touch me, ever again." She dusts herself off and fixes her slightly skewed skirt.

He recovers quickly and smoothly, having the opportunity to reveal a rose from his coat pocket, "I, my lady, am the Viscount of Druitt," He raises the pink rose to her cheek with a flirtatious grin on his face, "Aleister Chamber."

"And I," She smacks the rose away from her and walks past him, thankful that he doesn't follow her, "—am not interested." She looks at him a final time, eyes scrutinizing.

"Ah, but we shall meet again, blue bird!" He remarks confidently, she walks off and out of the doors, but not before a quick;

"The deck can be reached by climbing the back stairs of this room, the living corpses have been cleared and you are safe until you reach the boats."

"And I shall know your true name!" He shouts after her.

* * *

His angel came with bullets, lace, but without a name.

_"Until we meet again, blue bird."_

* * *

A/N: May or may not be part of the prequel series for **Onnashituji, hell revisited.**

_Read and review?_


	3. Lingerie

Lingerie

A/N: Well that escalated quickly, from Dresses to Gowns—and to Lingerie. Wowzazz.

Disclaimer: Owns nothing but Teresa.

Warnings: Semi-explicit sex

* * *

_She was not one to entertain._

* * *

Entertain meaning to provide someone with amusement.

Entertain not meaning to receive a guest and serve them food and drink.

Entertain not meaning to wear formal suits and boyish masks.

Entertain meaning to wear provocative garments and comply with risqué actions.

No. She is not one to entertain.

But she is standing with her eyes blank and lips in a defeated line. She was wearing nothing but flimsy pieces of lingerie, thin stockings, and heeled boots.

_It's an easy job,_ she said, _all men are weak to women,_ she said.

Though Alice hasn't mentioned Teresa's disguise to be of a woman to be auctioned off for a night.

"And this lovely blue virgin goes to the highest bidder of the night!" The host stands behind the podium with a confident grin.

He winks in her direction and she suppresses the urge to whip out guns and start shooting. "We'll start at five thousand pounds."

Her eyes widened a bit and she blinked, surely she was worth more than that.

"Seven thousand!" came from a—boy, a rather perverted boy.

"Seventy-five hundred!" Young man in red and brown—a little bit higher, perhaps?

"Eight-seventy hundred!" Oh, oh, it's a wrinkled old man.

"Ninety hundred!" He looks a bit sick.

"Ten thousand in cash!" A middle-aged man proud to show his wealth, "An extra ten that she's mine!"

She was taken aback by this, widening her eyes. She blinked twice before making a face of disgust. She can smell the bidder's greasy hands and human arousal—it stank like the sewers of the slums.

"Any higher, ladies and gentlemen?" The host keeps his confident visage, "Any higher than a twenty?"

She has to comply with the sudden change of situation, ready to flick her wrists and—

"Thirty thousand all-in." And there he was, the target of the night, approaching the stage in a glimmering girlish appeal.

"Absurd!" The greasy-handed man took a step forward, "Thirty-five!"

"Forty." He brushed his hair from his shoulder.

"Forty-five!" The fifty-year old was staring to pant, sweat forming on his face.

"Fifty."

"Sixty!"

"Sixty-three."

"Sixty-nine!"

"Sixty-nine, five hundred."

"Seven—oh!" The middle-aged man shook and fell to the ground, heaving.

"Ay, the weak heart of weak men." He shook his head slowly, in pity, "It seems we meet again, blue bird." He winks and grins at her.

* * *

He seats comfortably on the armchair, his finger curled around a glass of red wine.

She has her back to him.

She sighs, staring at him through the mirror. "I believe there are better women to suit your fancy, sir."

"I believe that there are none." He says casually, before taking a sip of his drink.

"Then you have not looked enough."

He sets the glass on the table. "I haven't seen enough of you."

She closes her eyes, reopens them again, "Of course you haven't, sir, and I plan to keep it that way."

"But I don't." He stares at her, expression turning lost, but then he smiles, "Come here, blue bird."

_Obey him,_ she said, _nothing could go wrong,_ she said.

She swallows disgust. "Why, sir?"

"I want to take a look at you."

"You've looked long enough." She bites.

"You haven't been rid of your shell, blue bird?"

"Unfortunately."

He doesn't get her sarcasm, "Look here, blue bird."

She doesn't turn, instead she continues looking at his reflection, "There are women out there who would enjoy your company as I dislike it."

_Don't harm him_, she said, _it's for our good,_ she said.

"You cut me deeply, blue bird." He sighs dramatically; placing a gloved hand over his chest, "Care to kiss it better?"

She swears to maim him once this is all over. "It means that I haven't cut you deep enough, sir."

"Ah, the kink, I might as well comply with my twice-escaped bird." He stand up from his seat, taking a step closer, "You haven't anywhere to run to, blue bird." He imply suggests, reaching out to her.

_He's just a man,_ she said, _men can do you no harm,_ she said.

_Men are weak, men are feeble, men live and die in pleasure,_ she said.

Alice might as well be true, and this isn't the first time Teresa's used her womanly form to carry out an order.

She suppresses the disgust and the irritation down to her stomach. She tests a feeble voice, "What if I do?" She turns around, creating a look of seduction and innocence—though she wants to spit in his face.

"Then I make sure—" He presses close, making her back press onto the cold glass and her front press against his, "—that you don't."

Their heights nearly match and all she has to do is to lean forward and literally suck all the truth from him, but no, she decided that she might as well have her fun playing with humans.

It's been fifty years since she has been able to, anyway.

* * *

So she leans forward, curling her fingers around his neck. She takes his lower lip with both of her own—licking, biting, and pulling. He groans at the roughish contact and presses his hands on the sides of her chest, thumbs brushing beneath her breasts.

She draws her lips to his neck, darting out a tongue to lick his earlobe. He lets out a moment of weakness, a sigh. She continues at his neck, blowing out heavy breaths at his ear and kissing the skin beneath his jawline.

He was fairly light, and so she heaved him to the master suite's bedroom—all the while kissing his neck, but wanting to tear his throat out. She rolls them over from the side of the bed to the center. She straddles him and rubs her body against his, hearing his incoherent whispers, sighs, and groans.

"What do you know of the Duke of St. Lawrence?" She whispers, feigning pleasure from his hands rubbing her thighs.

"Wouldn't you want us to be naked, first?" It's as if he hasn't heard her.

She sighs and rises from him, placing one hand on his chest and using her other to untie her corset. Her nails sharpen and cut through the strings, he almost reaches—

She slaps his hand away, "Ah, ah, ah." She motions a finger from left to right, "Play fair."

He sits upright, placing his hands on her now bare back, "I've been generous enough, blue bird." He smirks and latches his mouth to hers, pressing her down so that he covers her body.

_Though he might have been playing with occult arts, _she said, _just be careful,_ she said.

Oh, yes, the occult is powerful. How many elixirs has he drunk?

She wonders as a hand pulls, wanting to discard the unworn corset. She rakes her nails on his chest, cutting clothes easily as his tongue grinds against her teeth.

* * *

Soon, he is the first to lose all articles of clothing. She smirks, a hand reaching down his stomach as he groans loudly, arching his back upward, and his grip on her breast tightening.

She is unimpressed and unfazed by this.

She bites his neck, and breathes on his ear, "What do you know of the Duke of St. Lawrence?"

"What—duke—" He heaves, his throat muscles contracting his every downward glide of her finger.

She stops, her tone hard and furious, "The Duke of St. Lawrence, what do you know about him?"

He stares at her and quickly suggests. "Work hard, blue bird."

_It's worth it, Teresa,_ she said,_ you'll be fine, _she said.

She glides downward, until she feels something poking through her undergarments. "The Duke of St. Lawrence." She commands, sliding up and down.

He gasps and sighs, "Yes, yes, the duke."

She forces a gritty moan and removes the rest of her clothes whilst atop him, all for his viewing pleasure.

* * *

He is the only one to moan when she torments him with a slow pace. He is the only one to scream when she slides upward and downward on him. He is the only one to—he's the only one. She fakes a moan, a scream, and an orgasm because she can and she wants to bite his skin off.

* * *

"So, what do you know about the Duke of St. Lawrence?" She asks as she straddles his stomach.

He kisses her then, long and hard and wet and sounding, "Another round after a glass of wine, perhaps?" He smirks, looping an arm around her.

She throws herself from him, throwing into a mad fit, "I've had it! I've had it!" She grinds her knees to the sides of his throat, she aims to break his neck, "Tell me what you know about the Duke of St. Lawrence or I will snap your neck."

His eyes focus of the lips on her face and not the lips in between her legs. "St. Lawrence? The Duke of St. Lawrence?" He almost coughs.

"Yes, damn you!"

"But what is your name, blue bird? I have yet to know of your name before I hear another on your lips." He acts nonchalantly at the pressure on the sides of his throat.

"I shall tell you when you tell me of the Duke of St. Lawrence." She glares at his smiling—pleasured—face. "And then I kill you."

"Oh, then to have made love with a shelled angel, I shall tell you!" He exclaims, "The Duke of St. Lawrence—" He pauses, "—is dead."

She blinks thrice, leaning back, getting off of him.

She shouts at him, "What do you mean he's dead!"

"His name was in the Sunday obituaries not too long ago." He suggests, sitting upright, looking disappointed.

She grabs the nearest newspaper and begins scanning through the pages with furious eyes—she stops;

Henry Cer King, Duke of St Lawrence

Has been proclaimed dead

On this day of the 24th of August, the year 1896.

We offer his family our most sincere of condolences.

She whips her head back at him, furious and in disbelief.

"Wine, Chérie?" He suggests, gesturing at the table on the other side of the room with two wine glasses and an opened bottle of wine, "Before we continue."

She screams and tosses the newspaper at his face, "Damn you!"

* * *

_"Ah, amour."_

* * *

A/N: The last of the trilogy. Read and review?


End file.
